


Speechless

by Original_Cypher



Series: Apocalypse fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something happens that makes Castiel very quiet. Yet, you find out a lot about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Howl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leonidaslion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/gifts).



Sam is knocked to his knees by the sheer force of the sound. The air trembles and the demons around him explode into dark clouds of dust. But the noise. It’s deafening, it’s squeezing his chest tight and he can’t draw a breath. He can’t even begin to process what happened. That his brother is dead. That _Dean_ is dead.

Because of the noise.

Castiel’s real voice, he guesses.

The angel has his back to him and Dean is in his arms, limp. Corpse. Castiel was praying. Begging to his own disappointing father to save Dean. To save the man that saved all other men.

Even to Sam, it’s the truth. Even if Sam managed to contain Lucifer long enough to jump, Dean was the one who believed, Dean was the one who brought it out of him.

Dean was the one who’s gone to Hell and back and kept fighting the war even though he was so tired.

Sam hates God at this moment, for allowing Dean to fall in yet another battle.

Dean is back in Hell. He’s chained to Hell, claimed. Even if Castiel or whoever granted him a place in Heaven, Lucifer… Lucifer made sure he’d go back.

The pride of owning the one that made him fall? Revenge?

Sam doesn’t know.

But they got His message. That Dean belonged to him. Dean _belongs_. _Now_.

And Castiel is bellowing his rage at the sky because he feels just as much as Sam the loss and the grief in this moment. God would have done something.

Castiel’s scream is piercing Sam’s skull and he doubles over, balled up over his knees, covering his head. The scream is everywhere. It comes from within, bellow, above. Castiel’s pain is making the ground crack around him. Rocks split. Trying to cover your ears through that is like to stop a tsunami with an umbrella.

One good thing coming out of crouching though, is that he’s squeezed his eyes shut and hidden his face. He can still see the violent burst of light, of _grace_ , and he wants to look up. But he knows he can’t. He kind of wants to see, later in life. If he survives Castiel’s wrath, that is.

He wants to know if Castiel’s exploding or something.

But the sound remains. Until… until it seems less and less painful. Then just simply ear splittingly loud. Then just the scream of a man.

He hears a couple of thumps and looks up in time to see Castiel falls to the ground, Dean cradled in his arms, unable to support them both, his voice scratched raw and ending on a sob.

Sam stares.

The death of his brother is important. It’s unspeakably important. It’s like half of him has just been torn off.

But he _knows_ something else terribly important just happened.

It looks like…. Castiel just screamed himself out of grace. It looks like Castiel just became human. He’s shaking, sobbing. He’s bleeding and not healing.

He’s dying just as much as Sam.

 

xXx

 

It turns out Sam was right. Castiel screamed himself human. He also screamed himself mute.

It takes him an hour to coax the ex angel into getting Dean back in the car and driving to Bobby’s. He only manages when he points out that Dean’s getting cold. Because it’s been snowing and Castiel’s turning blue. But Castiel doesn’t care about his own condition, no matter how new or disconcerting. He doesn’t care about his blood slipping down the tan trench coat and polling on the snow. The gloomy, razor-sharp contrast of the hemoglobin against the minuscule geometry of shards of ice. At the edges, the pool is starting to freeze. But for Dean… for Dean, he moves. As always.

They lay down Dean on his bed and Sam has the stupid reflex of throwing a light cover on him. He doesn’t catch himself, but he looks at Dean like that. He looks pale, but only as if he’s sick. Like he’s not _dead_.

Because habit or denial, Sam can’t accept it yet. He has to. So he stays, forces himself to acknowledge it. To look at him and watch his chest _not_ rise.

Sam spends hours watching him, wishing, hating, begging. Anything. Except praying. He doesn’t pray.

He pretty much lost his faith when Castiel did. Well, can you blame him? If angels don’t even believe that He’ll budge…

 When Bobby nudges him awake, he realizes he’s fallen asleep on the chair and lets himself be guided to bed. It’s somewhere around seven in the evening, but they’ve been fighting nonstop for days, so his body is ready to crash. Castiel is sitting in the living room, Sam doesn’t do much more than blink when Bobby mentions he still hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t mention Bobby’s red rimmed eyes and the glass of whiskey growing lukewarm on his desk. It seems that this time he can’t bring himself to drown his sorrow.

When he gets up in the morning, Sam talks quietly with Bobby about where they want to burn Dean. Burn him this time. He doubts there will be more angels sent to bring him back now that he’s not a pawn in any grand scheme. Or more demons willing to take a deal. They almost whisper, because they don’t have the strength to speak up. Sam has never seen Bobby looking this wrecked. He figures he must look about the same.

When Bobby asks about what happened to Castiel Sam realizes he hasn’t seen him yet, which is really out of character. Unless he fled or somehow restored, but he doubts it. Well, de doubts the latter anyway. They look frantically through the rooms and bedrooms to make sure they don’t have to send a search party for a popsicled tax accountant.

Sam almost falls in shock when they find him.

It’s a slap to the face and a punch to the gut to see Dean’s body, laid out like a sleeping man. The tone of his skin is way off, though. It gives it away pretty quick. He’s probably rigid as hell, too.

And Castiel is there, asleep against Dean, curled up against his side and a hand fisted in Dean’s shirt. Sam hears a sniff, and realizes Bobby’s failing to contain his tears.


	2. Hush

“It’s okay if you don’t want to say anything.” Sam whispers, and Castiel looks up at him, wide, blue eyes meeting his briefly. “Bobby says there’s nothing wrong with you. But you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Hell knows I get it.”

Castiel nods.

When they watch the flames take Dean’s body, he stands next to Sam in silence, throat working over his anguish. At some point he steps backwards, almost tripping and stumbles his way towards a log, sitting down unsteadily. Sam follows him, afraid Castiel might pass out or be sick, but his friend just sits up and keeps watching the fire, shaking like a leaf. A pale, _pale_ leaf.

When they get back to Bobby’s home, he and Sam set up to sluggishly prepare some kind of food. It seems they’ve been reduced to silence as well. Castiel refuses to eat. He stays on the couch.

It takes two days for Sam to insist, because the ex angel is just that, _ex_. And he’s never looked worse.

Sam promises they’ll go slow on him, but halfway through a bowl of soup, Castiel runs to the kitchen sink to throw it up.

He’s not sick. There is absolutely no fever. Castiel insists to stay on the couch, or go to sleep in his bed, and refuses to eat.

Until, two days later, pale and wobbly, he pulls a stool and sits at the table next to Sam.

When Bobby turns at the noise, Sam think he might pester him for being a princess and picking his time. But Bobby’s always been a big softie. He’s a father. Surrogate, maybe, but he’s just as loving. He covers Castiel with an encouraging look. “Want something to eat, son?”

Castiel looks at him gratefully and nods very faintly.

 

xXx

 

The next weeks are spent teaching Castiel how his body functions and what he needs. How much food, how much sleep. What’s a shower for. Sam explains exercising, although none of them actually does anything. One day, Castiel reaches and touches Sam’s jaw making Sam’s stomach quiver. Castiel hasn’t spoken or even looked at them straight since that night. But he guesses he needs to, to ask what he wants to know about. Castiel grazes Sam’s cheek and then touches his own growing beard.

Sam remembers Dean teaching him when he shows Castiel how to shave and sits on the edge of the tub through his first time. Castiel moves him again when he leans in and presses their foreheads together briefly. Sam blinks rapidly and notices the tears dropping from his lashes when he does, thinking that though Castiel has yet to learn about hugs, he seems to have found a way to communicate something similar.

Castiel’s expression is sympathetic, broken and compassionate at the same time. It makes Sam feel oddly better to know that someone not even supposed to _feel_ anything is missing his brother just as much as he does.

“This is stupid.” Bobby comments a week and a half into it.

They’re watching Castiel try to roll up the sleeves of one of Bobby’s old shirts so his hand can actually come out of it.

“Yeah.”

They both know what he means, he doesn’t need to say it. The jeans Castiel is wearing are Sam’s and they’re just as oversized as the man himself. The ex angel probably knows as well, although he most likely doesn’t care.

Castiel gives up on the sleeve when Sam sits next to him. “Hey, Cas.” ^He starts. It’s odd how quiet he gets next to someone that silent. “I think Dean’s old clothes would fit you better.” There. Not that hard. _Dean_. Didn’t make your tongue bleed after all. “You can have them, but only if you want to. If not, we can get you some of your own.”

Castiel picks at the rebellious sleeve. He nods.

“You want to try some of his?” Sam makes sure.

Castiel nods again.

When Castiel comes back down sporting a faded Blue Oyster Cult tee and a pair of Dean’s faded, torn blue jeans, Sam and Bobby stare at him in shock for a while, until the man shifts uncomfortably. Oddly, it’s Bobby that breaks first, crushing a surprised huff out of Castiel’s chest when he wraps him in one of his legendary bear hugs.

Castiel spends the rest of the afternoon on the couch, back to the armrest, knees drawn, sock clad feet flat on the dusty old thing and pressing his shirt to his nose, eyes closed, listening to Bobby’s classic rock collection at low volume.

Castiel’s yogi-like ability to stay still seems to live on, for all they know, he could be a wax rendering.


	3. Art

Sam flops down on his bed artlessly, pauses for a second and then reaches over for Dean’s duffle. Earlier, when he went to fetch Dean’s clothes, he dismissed the bunch of books and the toiletry bag in it. Now, he’s looking for some insight on Dean’s mind.

He opens the small bag first. He thinks he can leave the shaving cream and maybe change the blades on the razor to give to Cas. He finds KY, which makes his lips twitch, much to his surprise, the slight twinge of amusement coming as a bit of a shock. After a thought he throws it over to his bag, no use having _that_ conversation with the ex angel before it’s long overdue. Who knows, Sam’s own libido might come back. One day. When he sees a point in living on, maybe.

He flips through the books, smiles at Cat’s Cradle. He notices Dean was halfway through re reading it yet again, and that his page holder is a picture of the three of them. Sam takes a moment to contemplate that he called himself, Dean and Castiel ‘the tree of us’ in his mind, without pause or doubt. Castiel is really part of it now, there’s no avoiding the truth of it, especially now that’s he’s human. And just as Sam realizes they were ‘the three of them’, they’re down to two again.

There’s a Halliwell joke somewhere in there.

The picture is very nice, though. It was taken on Bobby’s birthday, Sam and Dean are making faces at the camera and Castiel is looking at them like they’ve gone insane. He smiles, throat tight, and slips it in his own book. Somehow he can’t bear to leave Dean’s novel like that, so he puts a piece of paper in the picture’s place. As if Dean’s going to come back someday and pick up his reading where he left off.

He flips open Dean’s journal. Almost half of it is written in. Mostly notes on cases, phone numbers, paragraphs on the new things they’ve seen after Sam got back from the cage. Questions that need answering.

He starts when a photograph slips from the back of the book. It’s a portray shot of Castiel. There’s a field in the background, and he can see the very tip of the nose of the impala on the right. Sam smirks. Dean was never good at framing. Castiel is looking slightly confused but trying to give Dean a smile. It’s adorable. It’s Castiel alright, very far from the wreck he’s been recently. Then again, they’re all out of character these days.

He flips to the back of the journal, checking if there are more pictures, but all he can see is an upside down drawing. Huh. Dean used his journal both ways. He turns it around, and looks at a surprisingly lifelike ballpoint rendering of Bobby, toothy grin and cap on. There’s another face on the next page. It’s Sam, staring out the window in the Impala.

There’s Lisa and Ben, playing with a ball. Then Sam again, this time he’s ducking his head, smiling, probably blushing. Then Castiel, standing stiff and looking to the side. Then the Impala. Then an AC/DC logo in flames. Then Sam and Bobby laughing. This one is actually copied from a picture, he remembers when it was taken.

There’s Castiel again, looking sleep mussed and head tilted. Very accurate. Sam smiles again. It’s an odd, almost forgotten sensation. On the next page he finds John, just… staring right back at his son from the paper. The next one is Ellen and Jo, elbow rested on the bar and feet kicked back at the Roadhouse. Then Jo alone, smiling brightly. He remembers her smile.

Sam used to have a crush on her. But she only had eyes for Dean, who wouldn’t even think of it, she was like a kid sister.

The next picture is Castiel again. It hits Sam as weird and he spends a moment staring at it. Dean’s drawings are amazing and Sam wonders when he found the time to do them, or how come he didn’t know about it. But this one… he realizes that the thing bothering him in the drawing isn’t that something about Castiel’s face is wonky, it’s simply that he’s only wearing his shirt. As far as he knows Dean’s never seen Castiel without his jacket on. At best he’s taken the coat off, or one time his tie, but he doubt Dean holds dear the memory of carving sigils in his angel’s chest. And this can’t be the junkie outfit he’s heard about.

He gets a theme when he flips the next page and it’s Castiel again, eternal white shirt rumpled and first two buttons popped. His head is turned to the side and his eyes are closed. It’s like he’s sleeping.

Sam frowns. Fair enough. He wonders if Cas modeled for those, knowing he himself never has. He doubts Bobby would ever _agree_ to model. So he assumes it’s from memory. An exercise. He figures drawing someone’s profile like that, neck stretched out must be something different. Uncommon. Harder.

Next page it’s Sam as Lucifer. He makes a face. White suit, really? He wonders why the fuck Dean would draw that.

Next page it’s Sam again, he’s in bed, asleep, covers bunched up under his chin and it’s… does he really look that young when he sleeps? It’s almost cute. Maybe Dean wanted to mark the difference between the Devil and the brother that he loved? Have it on paper?

Then there’s Cas again. This time it gives Sam pause. Castiel is naked. Well, not that he can see him completely, but he assumes he is.

He’s lying in bed, sheets and covers fallen around his hip and looking back at Sam. He’s resting on his side, arm pillowed under his head and the other hand resting flat on the mattress. It’s not alluring at all. Castiel’s expression is calm. Attentive.

The next drawing, which Sam almost dreads to reveal, is Castiel yet again. He’s fully naked this time, although Sam is happy to note the absence of money shot. He’s sitting on a stool. His back is facing Sam, one thigh is dropped down to the right like he’s sitting cross legged but the other knee is drawn up, his left elbow hooked around it. Castiel is slightly hunched forward and to the right. The drawing of the back muscles is amazingly realistic. Sam would be fucking impressed if he wasn’t so thrown.

He mentally checks out the ex angel, which is extremely weird for him in itself, and he guesses this is pretty accurate. It’s very likely Dean has seen Castiel naked like that. Maybe he even drew Castiel as he was bared like that. The notion of it alone makes Sam’s head swim.


	4. Gift

Sam fiddles with Dean’s journal as he makes his way to the couch, Castiel’s residence of choice, lately.

“Cas, can I talk to you?” he says quietly.

Castiel looks at him warmly. He likes how he usually asks first, Sam’s noticed. He nods, pulls his feet away from the second seat to allow Sam some room to join him. Sam sits, and Castiel folds his legs under himself, giving Sam his undivided attention, although his gaze is hovering over his knees.

“Did you… Do you… love Dean?”

Castiel nods, no hesitation.

 “I think…” Sam realizes it wasn’t the right question to ask. If Sam asked Castiel if he loved him or Bobby he would say yes as well, they are, after all, the only family that chose him. “Do you want to have this?” he asks instead, presenting the journal.

The ex angel reaches out, fingers touching the cover, then he looks up at Sam quizzically.

 “Dean drew the people he loved. You’re in it quite a bit.”

Cas goes to open the leather bound book but Sam takes it, flips it upside down and opens it, resting it back on Castiel’s lap. Bobby’s walked over, curious.

Castiel looks at the first drawing, and Bobby makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle. Sam is sure he meant to sound disapproving.

When Castiel flips through the drawings of Sam, Lisa and Ben, Sam again, Castiel and the Impala, Bobby whistles between his teeth. Well, Sam’s glad to know he wasn’t the only one kept in the dark.

Bobby chuckles at the AC/DC logo, and snorts at the drawing of him and Sam. Castiel watches him laugh like he’s trying to soak it in.

When John comes up again, they go silent. Castiel skims his fingers across the page to brush over Ellen and Jo’s faces, like he’s blessing them. He doesn’t seem surprised at the attire he’s (not) wearing in the next picture. The one after that, with Castiel and his eyes closed, face turned like he’s asleep, almost makes him smile, Sam would swear on it.

He frowns at Lucifer’s rendition, and gives Sam a small, but real smile at the drawing of him sleeping. Great. It looks like Castiel and Dean agree on the fact that Sam’s cute. Just great. Beyond the grave, Dean can still poke fun at his little brother.

Bobby makes a noise from behind the couch at the nakedness of Castiel’s torso, and Sam looks up, having almost forgotten he was there, too focused on the other man’s reactions. Castiel doesn’t seem surprised or ashamed by the picture, but he flinches slightly at the sound Bobby makes. His hand hesitates to flip to the next page, as if he knows what’s there. And he likely does. “Go on.” Sam says, softly.

Bobby’s eyes go wide again, but he holds his tongue. Castiel touches the drawing, traces up the line of his own spine, and looks up at Sam.

“Did you pose for this?” he asks softly.

Castiel nods slowly, closing the book.

Feeling like it’s appropriate, Sam scoots to the side and wraps an arm around Castiel’s back, pressing the smaller man against his side. It looks like he lost much more than Sam assumed. “You don’t have to tell us, if… I don’t know.” He shrugs, releasing him slightly. “Were you and Dean intimate? I mean… I don’t know who decided to keep it from me, if it was you or him or if you agreed or if it just happened, I don’t know…. It’s okay. I guess I just thought…”

Castiel is watching him. Bobby is starting at Sam, obviously he had assumed Sam knew.

 “Were you?”

Castiel hesitates, then nods. Sam mirrors the gesture. Bobby stands there for a moment, looking irresolute when blue and hazel eyes settle on him, but eventually he shrugs. He tries to give Castiel an accepting smile, but the man is holding Dean’s journal in his hands, and Dean’s dead, so he can’t really pull it off. Castiel’s posture relaxes anyway.

Sam feels his heart break all over again for Cas. Poor bastard learned feelings, lost his friend and apparently lover in the spade of just a bunch of years. There’s no wonder he won’t talk. Or that he hates God.

When Castiel tries to give him back the journal, he shakes his head. “You should hang on to it.”

Castiel holds it against his chest. When Sam leans forward to get up, Castiel’s rests a hand on his forearm. As Sam looks back he squeezes, trying to convey gratefulness and sympathy in his attempt at a smile.


	5. Quiet

A year rolls around without change. Bobby’s started picking up the phone again when a bunch of hunters burst into his house in the middle of the night thinking he had either died or been kidnapped. Bobby chewed them out, they barked at him right back. Apparently Command Central doesn’t get to close down for personal reasons, especially without notice.

So he takes the calls, they do the research, but the only case they actually work is one that happens not ten miles away from the Salvage. Other than that, Sam counts as retired. He still works out. Every once in a while, Castiel will come run with him. Nothing changes.

Castiel is pale, he’s thin. Maybe a bit thinner than Jimmy was, but it doesn’t seem unhealthy. He eats. Not too much, but not too little.

Castiel reads, irons, cooks, sews back holes in Bobby’s socks, dusts, gardens, draws (once), listens to mullet rock or classical music, but he never, ever speaks.

Sam tries to cut his own hair once and it’s the first time Bobby laughs since they lost Dean. After that, he lets Castiel do it. He doesn’t even tell him what to do, he trusts him. It turns out to be a refreshing of the same haircut every time. Sam always wonders if it's because it suits him best in Castiel's opinion, or if the man is trying to preserve things as they were.

He works out, runs, chops wood, does supply runs and works on the cars with Bobby. He reads, listens to music with Cas sometimes, when he feels masochistic he picks up a Supernatural book from the first season to remember when Dean and Sam loved each other and there was no bullshit between them. And then he cries, and he doesn’t shake the hand Castiel rests on his forearm when they’re watching tv those evenings.

Bobby watches his kids, mourns Dean like he’s mourning everybody and if it means keeping Sam and Castiel in his house forever to keep them from disappearing on him too, then so be it. Even if it starts with shooting his routine straight to hell, it’ll damn well do.

It turns out the boys fall into a habit with him and help a lot. Being a three man command post isn’t overkill. They’re two at the phones, three at research. Castiel’s really smart and knows of stuff Bobby hadn’t heard about. He seems pissed about not being able to pop them into being for a while and then discovers Amazon and Ebay. He blows of a lot of Bobby’s money on it but the books they get are worth every penny of it.

It’s just when they start to feel okay in their everyday life, to think that they’d be okay with it if it went on like that from now on, that it all changes. Of course, it had to change.


	6. Thunderstorm

In a year and a half, the first sharp movement Sam sees from Castiel happens at the same time he hears the first word he’s heard from the man since he screamed himself to mortality. Castiel springs to his feet from the couch. “Dean.” He intones, deadly. Magestuous. Like the angel he used to be.

Before Sam or Bobby can finish exchanging stunned looks, they find themselves stuck to their seats, unable to even lift a finger from the armrest, and the door flies off its hinges and into the kitchen.

There’s a Celtic god lookalike at the threshold. Probably just a tad shorter than Sam, strong jawed with side burns, blond wavy hair and a Viking look to his posture and clothes. And above the killer smirk, eyes like pools of petroleum.

“Leeeet meee iiiin.” The demon sing songs, and Sam freaks out at the sheer power he can feel. And Sam knows his demonic power surges. Still, he’s never met one that could hold him so still. Hold two people so still. Petrified.

But the demon has only eyes for Castiel. And Castiel only has eyes for him.

“Cas, baby?” He prods. “Just a tiny scratch.”

Castiel steps away from the couch and Sam wants to tell him to stop, but he finds it’s difficult to speak when your vocal cords won’t budge. The ex angel picks up an axe and slams in into the threshold, effectively destroying the line of salt hidden under the paint.

The demon walks in. He comes to face Castiel and smiles. Castiel stares intensely back. Like he hasn’t done with anyone in a year and a half. The demon tilts his head with a grin. “Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel’s fingers twitch at his sides. “I knew you’d come back.”

The demon grins, something sly and wicked to it that, shockingly, makes Castiel smile. The demon spreads his hands. “Quickest way I knew how.” He says, meaning his vessel, obviously.

In response, Castiel takes the last step that closes the distance between them and kisses him. The demon makes a noise, between a satisfied sigh and a hungry groan that is so purely Dean that no more doubt is permitted.

Castiel’s hand curls around and claws at the leather of Dean’s -new- jacket and hauls him closer, Dean’s fingers thread in the hair at the back of the brunette’s head and he deepens the kiss.

Although he can’t cover his ears, Sam would look away. Seriously, he would, he’s even sure he could, his eyes seem to be the only things he can control, but the scene is enthralling.

Between Castiel’s entirely different behavior, to Dean’s apparition and new appearance, Sam’s head spins. Hard. And he can’t tear his eyes away.

Dean is a demon, Dean and Castiel are kissing. Castiel just spoke and he’s kissing a demon.

The ex angel is pressing himself closer, kisses demanding, desperate, and Dean is responding in kind, making up for a lost time that must have been much longer where _he_ was. There’s moaning and groaning that the old Dean would have been infinitely ashamed off, but now he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s having the time of his life, it’s like they’re having sex with their clothes on.

Sam would make a face, but he can’t.

Dean reaches down to press their lower halves closer, he lets out a sound that doesn’t sound completely human when he realizes he’s palming Castiel’s cheek through _jeans_. _His_ jeans. He mutters something, barely breaking the kiss, in a language Sam doesn’t recognize but that clearly the ex angel gets, making a small whimper. Something like ‘so hot’, in whatever demonic dialect Dean spoke. Dean chuckles, readjusts his grip and _pulls_ , pressings their groins together.

Castiel huffs at that, a noise stuck in his throat and fists a hand in Dean’s hair, the other one holding the back of Dean’s neck and he spreads one knee, the one leg Dean’s touching, allowing the demon to slip closer, slip _better_. He’s practically humping Dean’s thigh and Dean’s hands holding him tight, balled in his shirt at his back and digging in his butt cheek, guiding the movement, making them rock together.

It’s pornographic, insanely hot but somehow, it doesn’t come off as dirty.

The only thing going through Sam’s mind as he sees his brother, Dean, the _demon_ , make out with Castiel, his angel, like he’s been drowning for a year and Cas is mother fucking oxygen is… _it’s apocalyptic_.

Outside, the sky needs to be red and stormy and the land needs to be caught on fire.

Castiel gives a strangled whimper, it comes with a hitched exhale when Dean tears his mouth away and proceeds to suck under his jaw. A visible shudder goes through the ex angel, and it’s hard to deny he’s found his voice again when he holds on to Dean’s shoulder for dear life and moans raspily, drunk on the feeling of Dean, rocking along with him.

The very instant the pressure lets up and Sam can move again, they’re gone in a puff of black smoke, disappearing right from the spot, the kiss never breaking.

Bobby and Sam stare at each other in silence. What just happened? What does it _mean_?

Is Dean evil? It looks like it, he’s a demon, but then… is Castiel evil too? Will they have to kill him? Or them? Will _they_ try anything against them?

They have no clue.

No clue at all.

 

xXx

 

The next day, they hear the news that Heaven fell. It’s a hard concept to grasp. But it just fell. Juice sucked out of angels, war ended, no more godly weapons on the loose or douchebag wanting his turn to lead the Garrison.

For weeks after that, they keep tabs on everything pretty closely. Hunters are baffled, there has been zero demonic activity. Nobody gets it. If Heaven fell, shouldn't Hell be taking over? But no. It's more like it's disapeared.

Bobby and Sam don’t say anything, even to each other, but they think they have a clue as to why it happened, or through who.

“I guess love really conquers all?” Bobby says, one night. The news is getting really dull to watch.

On the six months anniversary of Dean’s ‘comeback’ and Castiel’s disappearance, Sam chokes on his cornflakes when a halo crowns Bobby’s head. From the look on Bobby’s face when he glances up at him, he’s guessing he’s sporting one too. He tries touching it, but it doesn’t have substance. It’s just a halo. A sign.

Wait.

That _reeks_ of Dean’s sense of humor. Sam bats at it as if it’s going to do anything. “I’m not your freaking apostle, Dean.”

 _“'Course you are, Sammy.”_ Dean’s voice echoes in his head, his real voice, warm and amused. Loving. _“F'course you are.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I post this as a gift to Leonidaslion, for introducing me to AO3. You know me as adja999 on LJ. I know you don't write Destiel, but I hope you can stomach it at least? I didn't have anything else written up around, so... I hope you like it anyway.


End file.
